Every time I move on I can no longer feel how it used to be. I've had two lives: The one before I turned 12 and the one after I turned 12.
Before 12 I was in elementary school. The good and the bad were all the scheme of innocence, it was beautiful and fun. The base of everything was my street, my friends spread out like a sheet of daisies. We were at each other's houses all the time. We had piggy banks to save our money in. We had boxes to keep our secrets in. We had our fun painting and drawing and cutting and writing. Knocking on his door, giving him letters. Getting all excited from tiny things. Teaching people English. My street is small, but it's a whole world. There were people inside the stone walls (I truly believed people could be hidden inside secret chambers inside stones, never for a minute doubted the possibility). There were cats under the cars. We had lemonade stands and yard sales. We ran, we sat, we laughed. Laughed and Laughed and Laughed. Friendships were so easy, so wonderful. We made promises- Never Embarrass Each Other, Never Tell Our Secrets to Other People, Never Lie.
Then there was 11, and 12... And it all faded. And we never spoke. And the oldest kids of the group were already in high school, 9th, 10th grade. They dropped religion some of them. They couldn't give a crap about younger kids, they were totally out of their league by now. They had boyfriends, they had "lives", or I don't even know what they had, because I never spoke to them. And by now I could cross the whole street in a few steps, no huge world, no amazing creation. There's outside of the street, there are more streets, more people.
Now I look through all our old stuff, boxes and piles and boxes and piles, and all I have is the memory. Because now everyone is just another face tightly pressed up against reality. Harsh and Silent.
Now I'm alone unless I want to go find someone. Now I know that there are no people hidden in boulders. Now I'm so worried that people will think I'm stupid. Now I'm trying to stand out (I never used to do that). Now I know that nobody wants to buy my old junk, And nobody wants to pay to hear me sing on my roof, And nobody wants to play hide and seek and come find me so that we can laugh, And nobody wants to laugh. And that's just it. That nobody wants to laugh.
Words seal the final conclusions and intentions of my mind. They express one human's thoughts. They change other's thoughts. They change the world. But then there's also something else that does the same- that is the Art of Lights and Angles. As I've said in the past, I believe in the power of the camera. This is photography, this world of noticing colors and shapes pass by in rhythmic tones. It's mixed with movement and music and words. How things line up in order, in straight lines, in crossing tones, in upside-down angles. How every color mixes with the one in back of it to create a solid scheme of natural beauty. It's always. It's everywhere. It's when you open your eyes. It's what you see.
[Also, September 29th. and October 16th (on my blog). I've always felt this. It's my mouth- words, and it's my eyes- the world.]
I guess I was pretty much one of the youngest in the group. Well maybe Racheli was the youngest. But there was me, Michal, Maayan, Avital E. (I think), Shani, Aviva, Shoshana, Rachel for a bit, Anna for a year or two, and guys- Tamir, Binyamin, I don't even remember who else. Maybe someone can remind me who I'm forgetting. בקיצור we were like a ton of ppl, on shabboses, remember Spud? Sardines? And just hanging out in basements or wherever. Running around, doing stuff, being connected, having a million friends of different ages.
That was 10 years ago.
You see, the problem is, when people grow up, They Grow Up. People who grow up can't be kids anymore. We can't play Spud Or sit around all day making "mailboxes" or playing with kittens or watching Bentzi put on puppet shows with Kermit the frog. We can't try to find the hidden people in the stones on the street wall. We can't have imaginary friends in our walls in our rooms. We can't S.O. We can't play Marco Polo in the circle We can't appreciate each other's drawings.
And I'll tell you something, דור הולך ודור בא We're 17, 18, 20, 22 now. This is my generation. It's finishing high school, getting married, having kids. And the ones younger than us, the ones who are exactly who we used to be at 7, 8, 9, are now the new us.
And eventually they'll grow and separate too. And be sad over the separation. And the ones younger than them will be the new them. Just like they are the new us.
Where are you, old friend? We used to all be happy. I'm sure a lot of you are different now.
She wanted us to write ideas that we might develop into our final art project for the exhibited part of the bagrut. So I wrote about the truths of a categorized existence, the natural reaction of organization and definition. The NEED for this organization. The chaos there would be if this natural scheme-building did not occur. Our need to understand through caterogization. An apple and an orange are only alike if we define them both as fruits. But if we define the apple as "smooth" and the orange as "orange-colored", they no longer fit together. So everything can be seen in a different way, things can overlap, and things can be disconnected. But if we never organize it all, every single thing will be its own mass of disorder, everything will stand on its own. It's own function, its own life. And nothing will be connected. I say it's all connected. Like the Futurist and Cubist art movements, I believe we blend into the background and the background blends into us. I always believed this (I even wrote something about it in ninth grade), but now I see that whole art movements from the beginning of the 20th century agreed with me!
Day #1 of twelfth grade... The last year of highschool. This year is different from the other ones. This one is more free, more happy. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm more free, more happy. This year we have אזרחות on the ma'arechet. This year we'll be running to different interviews for army or sherut leumi. This year is the last year, so there's none of the ייאוש of a neverending highschool. This year people have grown up. This year we have a fun teacher. This year I don't take English since I finished it all already :-) This year I'm actually LOOKING FORWARD TO TOMORROW